


is it hard for you to want me?

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, anyways ahem welcome to hell wlecome to hell welcome tohell, im gonna die just from having to type those tags, meanie with a peenie am i right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: literally just pwp gabriphale smut, there is NO plot here folks i wrote this in the notepad app on my computer fueled by pms and spite
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	is it hard for you to want me?

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry but also im not bc sm of the explicit content in the gabriphale tag is n//ncon like,,,,,, why. have some nice healthy smut ok goodbye (also not proofread at all so like pray for me lmao)

For the fifth time tonight, his back's arching. Hopelessly straining off the bed, as if keen to devour ever more of his pleasure, of the stimulation Gabriel delivers unto him. He gasps, mouth dropped open, eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't bear to open them, even if he had the strength to. He couldn't bear processing in vision what his mind can only hardly concieve. To see Gabriel leering over him, glowering like a hungry dog, spit steaming off sharp canines in the cool night air. He'd be slick down to his chin, Aziraphale knows. Because he's devoted at least a solid half hour to licking Aziraphale open. Lapping between his wet, soaked folds, and practically _kissing_ him--it must be kissing, Aziraphale thinks--down there.

His fingertips press into the soft, forgiving flesh between Gabriel's shoulder blades. Just hard enough to feel the firm muscles underneath, how they twitch and tense up when he fucks into Aziraphale with an increasing fervor. He's already made him cum five times-- _five_ bloody times--and yet, he still isn't satisfied. He needs to see more of Aziraphale like this. Needs to know he's taking something from him that'll never be restored. The one thing he can't replace. He's ripped pure innocence from his body, ravished a naive, uncertain viridity. Whether or not Aziraphale really is quite so twee and unassuming as Gabriel percieves him, that doesn't matter. He's finally got him in his clutches, claimed his first taste of skin on skin. He'll always be the first tongue in his mouth, the first fingers to spread him open, get a hearty glance at the pulsing nub just _waiting_ for him. Adorably small, and glistening with slick. Like a little pearl; a treasure nobody else will be able to touch without knowing Gabriel had been there _first_.

He rubs his thumb and forefinger through Aziraphale's silk soft lips, circling around his clit, and then entrapping it. A constant, brutal sensation as he nearly pinches, just twisting his fingers back and forth, barely falling short of a clockwise pattern. Aziraphale lets out a wretched sob, shuddering under the force, the intensity of Gabriel's ministrations. There's a hand under his jaw, gripping right around where the bones met his throat. He can feel his pulse thrumming wildly under Gabriel's fingertips. And it must be setting off something in the Archangel as well, because suddenly, Gabriel doubles down on his efforts. Snapping his hips like a rabid animal, rutting into tight, soft heat without care or consideration. Aziraphale cries out once more, and Gabriel's fingers part his lips fiercely, claiming entrance without asking. He sinks them inside his mouth, down to the third knuckle, and Aziraphale doesn't need to gag, he wouldn't if he didn't want to. But he really, _really_ , quite terribly wants to.

"So pretty, sunshine. Wish I could have you like this all the time. Just wet and desperate for my cock." Gabriel mutters, pressing his fingers in impossibly further, and relishing in the pathetic, choked off whimpers Aziraphale makes in response. 

"How long did you want me, Aziraphale? How long have you been waiting, working yourself up every time I got a little too close, said just the _right_ thing--and don't lie. I'm not dull, sweetheart. And you're incredibly _un_ subtle."

Aziraphale can hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel as his face flushes with what, undoubtedly, must be the brightest red Gabriel's ever seen. He considers not responding, pretending he's too far gone to do anything but babble aimlessly. Maybe rocking his hips like a dog in heat, just to keep the show in good spirits. But he doesn't. He doesn't, because Gabriel would know. Gabriel always knows. He's too in tune with Aziraphale for his own good. His memory hardwired with memorized patterns of how Aziraphale squeezes his thighs together when he's properly aroused, seeking out friction. Or how he makes these precious, squeaky little noises when Gabriel spanks him, kicking his feet until his pretty ass is red and swollen.

His brain's full of it--and not much else, for that matter. So Aziraphale doesn't have a chance, not really. There's no way he'd have a chance at fooling Gabriel. He has to talk, whether he wants to or not. Though, by some slight inkling, he finds he might like the idea just the teensiest bit. Being forced to explain his desires, tortured with the threat of withdrawal unless he lets up, driving himself silly.

"I--I've wanted it-- _oh god_ , I've wanted it for so long, Sir. I can't--please don't-- _fuck_." Aziraphale stammers weakly, tripping over his words like he's broken both his ankles.

"Use your words, sunshine." Gabriel encourages him, mouthing over the sweltering, pinkened white skin skin of his neck and clavicle. He lets go of his throat, opts instead for stroking his fingers through Aziraphale's curls. Keeping him grounded, secure, safe. He knows him so well, too well, all too fucking well.

"Please don't stop me from cumming, Sir. I can't--can't hold it, _please_." Aziraphale pleads, nearly hyperventilating throughout the whole sentence. He's breathing so fast now, in time with Gabriel's thrusts. Or, perhaps, even double that. And Gabriel would try to stop him, kiss him quiet and calm. Teeth nipping bruised, sore lips until he's panting into Gabriel's mouth. But he doesn't have the mind to, not like this. He's too caught up in the race of chasing his own pleasure. Eyes raking down Aziraphale's body as he rams into him, every pointed thrust shaking him whole, jolting him further up his desk.

There's a glint of something cruel in his eyes, like he might just deny Aziraphale permission at the very last minute. Make him wait it out until he's scrabbling away at the desk surface, scratching up wood polish. But Aziraphale's squeezing so sweetly around him, doing so good, doing everything a lovely little angel like him should. He's whining himself hoarse, gasping for air his lungs can't quite fulfill. And he needs this, he really does. So Gabriel grabs him by his hips, pulls him down to meet his thrusts. And within seconds, Aziraphale's reaching his orgasm. Not just tipped over the edge, but rather, dramatically thrown overboard.

He's endearingly loud at first, tossing his head side to side, and dragging Gabriel in ever closer with his thighs around his waist. But as his pleasure ebbs and grows, it seems almost too overbearing to moan through. He's reduced to a litany of weak, soft-throated whimpers. Lips pursed shut, keeping him sounding more like a tired puppy than anything else. Gabriel kisses his damp, sweat slick forehead. Finding his own release soon afterwards, and grunting throughout the sharp, blunt punches of his last few thrusts. Aziraphale's limp by then. Utterly, completely pliant. His legs having fallen open, too weary to even clasp against him.

Gabriel drops to his knees after the fact, cursing the hard wooden tiling under his breath, before lapping through Aziraphale's soaked folds. Licking him clean of his cum, and paying no lack of mind to his clit, sucking generously. Aziraphale shudders harshly, eventually tugging him back by his hair, offering a small "Too much," when he can't take anymore. Gabriel devotes his attention to the surrounding area instead. Pressing his lips, warm and gentle, against the junction where his thigh met his pelvis, and leaving the sweetest lovebites behind. Aziraphale's hips rustle slightly, but he makes no move to stop him. In fact, his hand soon scratches at the nape of his neck, pushing him even closer.

And when Gabriel finds footing on solid ground once more, no longer lost to the daze of his own arousal, he pulls Aziraphale into his arms. One hooked under his knees, the other pressed against his back, lifting him without the slightest hint of strain. He carries him easily to the bath. The faucet, by some miracle, though neither angel was quiet sure who'd done it, already running.

**Author's Note:**

> kill me


End file.
